The Sandburg Express
by BAW
Summary: Five years after TSbyBS, B. Jacob Sandburg finally earns a Ph.D.; on a cross-country train ride, Jim reflects on his life with Jacob.


**The Sandburg Express**

**By**

**BAW**

DISCLAIMER: This is a piece of fanfic located in the universe of 'TheSentinel'; the characters and general premises of this universe belong to PetFly, UPN, and others; counsel's opinion informs me that fanfic falls within the parameters of 'fair use.'

This is a sequel to _The Natural_ and _But There Will be Joy in the Morning_. Jim reminisces about his first five years with Jacob.

Comments to [web2575@charweb.org][1]; archive wherever, just let me know.

The educational institutions, except for Rainier University, are real. The Union Institute Graduate College has two external/minimal residency Ph.D. programs--one in Professional Psychology, the other in Interdisciplinary Arts & Sciences ([www.tui.edu][2]) Florida State University really does have an external/minimal residency M.S. in Criminal Justice/Criminology ([www.criminology.fsu.edu][3]) as does the Australian Charles Sturt University ([www.csu.edu.au][4]); as Megan is canonically from New South Wales, where C.S.U. is located, I have decided to make her an alumna. The University of South Africa is the largest, and one of the oldest distance learning institutions in the world; people from anywhere on the planet can earn degrees from UNISA in a variety of subjects. ([www.unisa.ac.za][5])

Anyone who wants to check out the effectiveness of the cane as a self-defense weapon, go to [www.canemasters.com][6]

* * *

I miss Blair.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against Jacob. Jacob is a good man, and an excellent partner, and I won't say that the past five years with Jacob haven't been great.

But I miss Blair. 

* * *

I remember the Monday when I first saw Jacob; he was on the platform with the other cadets in his starched uniform. Sunday night I had heard Blair crying himself to sleep, as he had Saturday and Friday nights. It had worried me, but Blair had assured me that just because he mourned his old life as a teacher did not mean that he did not want to become a policeman.

From what I understood Blair to say, every major life transition---listen to me, four years with Blair and I'm talking like a Social Scientist! —is a kind of death, and the more radical the change, the more like a death. Hence, Professor Blair J. Sandburg had to die in order that Detective B. Jacob Sandburg could be born; he promised me that I would like Jacob.

And I do; but I miss Blair.

They're very alike in some ways, but very different. It isn't just the hair, although that was a large part of it. Blair had cut his hair for the Academy, but he was still Blair. The man I saw on the platform that day was not Blair--he was definitely Jacob. 

I hadn't seen him that morning; he was up and gone before I woke up. That, in itself, should have told me that Blair was no more---it usually took a crowbar to pry Blair out of bed. I remember his note:

* * _"Jim--_

_I've taken my uniform and will change at the Academy gym. The groom's not supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding, and I think the same principle applies here._

_Jacob"_

Well, that knocked me for a loop. I thought that even if he wanted to go by Jacob officially that he could still be Blair for me in private. But I guess not; he felt that he had to bury Blair.

I miss Blair. Jacob's all right, I have nothing against Jacob. But I miss Blair.

* * *

It is amazing how two men can be so alike and so different. Jacob has all of Blair's energy and enthusiasm, but where Blair was like fireworks, Jacob is like a laser beam. Blair was like a terrier, bouncing around and grabbing onto things and worrying them. Jacob is like a whippet, fixing his gaze on something and charging at it as though shot from a cannon. 

Jacob has all of Blair's courage, certainly. He also has Blair's aversion to violence. Unlike Blair, however, Jacob shows no hesitation to use it when it is unavoidable. He joined an _hapkido_ club, and made Black Belt in record time, with a Certificate of Proficiency in cane. What that man can do with a cane is phenomenal.

Then, two years into our partnership, we began to get brochures from distance-learning doctoral programs. Blair had said that he ultimately wanted to finish his doctorate, and I guess that went for Jacob as well. When he started talking about distance learning and all of the opportunities I saw a bit of Blair peeking through; but Jacob was still there, in charge.

I miss Blair. Jacob's very nice, but I miss Blair.

* * *

Jacob was so interested in distance learning that I decided to get in on the act and get my master's. I mentioned this to Megan, and she told me that her alma mater in Australia gave an external master's in Criminal Justice. I thought about it; it certainly would be unusual. In the end, just as Jacob decided on the Union Institute over the University of South Africa, I chose Florida State University over Charles Sturt University. That's why Jacob and I are boarding the train. The Sandburg Express.

Oh, yes; I know that the real name is the Empire Builder, but I like to think of it as the Sandburg Express. It must have been a little bit of Blair peeking through again that convinced me to agree to take the train; but Jacob was right, we do both have a _lot_ of unused vacation days, which we'll lose if we don't use. And he is right, we'll get to see the country while we're at it.

The Empire Builder will take us to Chicago; we'll have a day in Chicago, then take the Cardinal to Cincinnati. Jacob will graduate from the Union Institute with a Ph.D. in Psychology and a couple of days later his cousin Mordecai will graduate from Hebrew Union College with a Doctor of Hebrew Letters. I'll get to meet some of the Sandburg extended family. Then we'll take the train to D.C. and change to the Panama Limited for Tallahassee for my graduation.

I'd wondered about Psychology. He could have stayed with Anthropology, but when I asked he said:

_"As a Forensic Anthropologist I'd be in the lab all the time. Even. . .before. . .I wasn't that kind of Anthropologist. I always preferred to be out observing the interactions of live people to examining the remains and relics of dead ones. As a Psychologist I can stay out in the field."_

We took a roomette, and they've pulled down the beds. Jacob is asleep in the upper bunk; when he's asleep he still looks like Blair.

Jacob's OK; Jacob's great. I have nothing against Jacob. But I miss Blair.

* * *

I'm not sleepy, yet; too many thoughts. I've gone to the lounge car and look out at the mountains while nursing a beer. It is night, and most people would see just black, but I've turned up my sight so that I can appreciate the view--but not so high that when I turn back into the car I'm dazzled. Blair taught me well, and Jacob has also been an excellent Guide. He's also taken his role as Shaman seriously.

Blair only went to the Temple on High Holy Days, and not always even then. Jacob began taking his Judaism seriously, although definitely of the Reform variety. He went to Temple most Friday nights when we weren't on duty. He put a _mezuzah _by the Loft's door. He brushed up on his Hebrew, and began to buy books on Cabala and similar traditions.

A Shaman in a tribe was in charge, among other things, of the tribe's spiritual and emotional health. I saw how Jacob dealt with the others in Major Crimes, helping keep their emotional and spiritual equilibrium; Blair did so too, but with Blair I got the impression that this came from his personality, just doing what he did naturally. Jacob approached it as though it were a part of his duties. Major Crimes had the lowest rate of referrals to the EAP of any unit in the CPD; it wasn't official, but in Jacob we had our own EAP.

I asked him once why he was becoming more Jewish; I remember that conversation. It was Blair, but it wasn't. Blair might have said the same thing, but it would have been in a whimsical, almost teasing tone--although not mocking or disrespectful, Blair was never that.

_"Jim, I'm the Shaman of Cascade. I've tried the Chopec rites, and many of them don't work here. I've tried rites of the Native Americans of this area, and they work, but not well. I realized that to be a Shaman in a Euro-American tribe I have to draw upon Abrahamatic traditions. None of the Abrahamatic faiths are Shamanistic, but all three have mystical traditions that can be adapted."_

Shortly after that he became a Freemason in the Scottish Rite--something I can't imagine Blair doing. Blair respected the Masons for their social service--the Children's Home, the Shriners' Hospitals, etc.--but I'd never have imagined him _joining _them.

Jacob's a good man; I like Jacob. But I miss Blair.

* * *

Jacob has been pointing out historical sites and talking about the Indians who lived here. I see a little of Blair peeking through again. 

I remember the first case where he used his Jewish Shamanism. There was a particularly gristly series of Satanic ritual murders. Not that many, really, although one is too many. But the group had been careless, and we knew where their next meeting was to be. Jacob was not on duty that night, but he insisted on coming along. We walked right into the middle of a Black Mass.

I'd read of such things, but I'd never seen one in progress. I hope I never will again. I'll never forget what we saw--no matter how much I may try. Seasoned officers emptied their stomachs; Blair would have been in hysterics. Somehow, none of us could move, except for Jacob.

He strode into that chamber of horrors like some avenging angel. He held his cane up; I realized that the carvings on it were Hebrew letters. It may have been the light from the candles, but they seemed to glow. He moved the tip the cane, tracing a glyph in the air, and called out something in Hebrew. I don't know what it was, but it seemed to frighten the celebrants. He pulled a silver dagger out from somewhere and cut the victim free--thankfully she was still alive, the ritual hadn't gotten that far yet--and, raising his cane, thrust it down into the middle of the Pentagram like a spear. As he did so he called out again in Hebrew and there was a sort of soundless explosion--I know, that doesn't make sense, but that is the only way to describe it--and suddenly we could all move again. The celebrants began dropping on their knees, surrendering, and Megan rushed forward and threw her coat over the victim. Suddenly it was just another crime scene--a particularly revolting one, but one with no sign of the spiritual horror it had had before.

I've never doubted the reality of Jacob's Shamannic status since then. I don't understand it, but I know it is real. It was shortly after that night I started going to Mass again--not every Sunday, but more often than not, and occasionally on a weekday.

Jacob is wonderful; he's been an excellent partner, and one of the best detectives on the Force. But I still miss Blair.

* * *

Naomi will be joining us in Cincinnati, along with the rest of the Sandburg clan. I've not seen her in a long time. The Blair-to-Jacob transition has confused her, and she's never been happy with his police career. I understand her reasons for distrusting the police. The behavior of some of the officers she encountered during the Sixties would be described most charitably as 'overzealous.' She did come to the Academy graduation, though; I didn't think she would. She even seemed proud of Jacob when he stood in his dress uniform, holding his diploma while Rhonda snapped his picture. I know she carries a print in her wallet.

Shortly after Jacob started, Naomi asked to ride along with us. As Megan would say, "You could have knocked me down with a feather." She said she wanted to get an idea of what Bl--Jacob did, and Simon granted the request.

It was a fairly dull day until about mid afternoon, when I got a whiff of drugs in an old warehouse near the South Harbor. I detected that there were about half a dozen people in there--not too many for Ellison and Sandburg to take on.

"Stay in the car, Mom, and call for backup."

I did a doubletake; Jacob had my inflection down pat.

Naomi did _not_ stay in the car, although she did call for backup. There were volatile chemicals in the building as well as the drugs; we knew it and they knew it, so nobody dared shoot for fear of sending the whole place up, so it was all hand-to hand. Sandburg hadn't learned to use the cane yet, but he was adept as before in using items at hand as improvised weapons. On our way into the building he picked up a couple of fair-sized rocks which he threw with the accuracy of the man who had won the CPD's Municipal Employees' Fast-Pitch Softball championship three years running, beaning two of the perps before they knew what was happening. I accounted for two of them myself , and Jacob took out a third with a broomstick. We were hunting the last one through the maze of pallets and shelving when Naomi walked in. Our quarry saw her and thought to take her hostage; he had a knife at her throat and then she did. . .something and he was flat on his stomach, with Naomi holding his arm at an odd angle, her foot on his back, while he was yelling: 'Leggome, ya crazy bitch!"

When I came to collect him she said, slightly smugly, "Fifteen years of tai chi'chuan count for something."

It must be genetic; I miss Blair.

* * *

Well, I'm in bed in a palatial suite in the largest, fanciest hotel in Cincinnati; all paid for by the Sandburg clan. In the last twenty-four hours I've learned more about Jacob's family than in all the time I've known Blair _or_Jacob.

Have you ever heard of _Sandburg Goldstein Levi & Milner_? They are a very large New York law firm. Two of the founding partners--Sandburg and Goldstein---were among Jacob's great-great-grandfathers. Naomi ran away from home at fifteen-and-a-half and became pregnant with Blair almost directly after that. Her family pretty much disowned her after that--although they were later reconciled--but they could not cut off her trust fund. Which explains how Naomi has been able to travel all over the world so much. She can't trust the principal during her lifetime, but she does get the income, and when she dies Blair will be quite well off.

The Sandburgs seem to be of two types--short, stocky brunets and tall thin redheads. The former predominate, and I'm told that the redheads are really Goldsteins. (There are no true Goldsteins any more; old man Goldstein had four daughters. Three married sons of his partners; the fourth became the first Jewish woman to practice law in New York State--she never married.) They seem like typical pushy, hard-edged New Yorkers to me, but they mean well, and seem to have accepted me, more-or-less. Jacob has gotten more Blairesque--he even bounces a little. But Blair isn't all the way back, not by a long shot.

I can't say enough good things about Jacob, but I still miss Blair.

* * *

I don't think I've ever been in West Virginia before; the scenery is glorious. I'm glad Jacob persuaded me to take the train. The mountains are softer than those in Washington; I remember from a geology class I took once that they are much older; I can see scars from old strip mines, now veiled by vegetation. Jacob has been talking about the regulations for reclamation--again, a little of Blair peeking through. 

We had two days in D.C. The Sandburg firm has a branch there, and they maintain a corporate penthouse; by Blair's grandfather's courtesy we were allowed to stay there. I'd been to D.C. before, but always in some official capacity. For the first time we got to do all the 'tourist' things--the Smithsonian, the mall, the National Portrait Gallery, the National Cathedral. We laid bouquets at the Black Wall, and we went to Arlington. We saw the Lincoln Memorial and climbed the Washington Monument. Courtesy of the Sandburg firm we went to a cocktail party at the Peruvian Embassy. The Ambassadrine turned out to be an anthropologist who had studied the Chopec; I got another glimpse of Blair, but only a glimpse. Jacob was still to the forefront.

Despite Jacob's good qualities, I miss Blair.

* * *

Virginia.

The Carolinas

Georgia

I don't think I've ever seen as much of the country as before. I've flown over it, but you don't see the country when you fly. One airport is like another. If you're there on business, one _city_ is like another. On the train, you can see the difference--and the similarities. Trains run through people's backyards. You can see how people live. Some of it is ugly and tawdry--some of it is beautiful. All of it is real. And you can relax and watch and learn--unlike when you are driving.

Unless I'm in a hurry, give me trains any day.

I can't see Blair any more. Jacob is firmly in charge. He doesn't talk much, Jacob, but what he says is to the point. One big difference between the two is that Jacob doesn't suffer fools patiently. Blair could pass things off with a joke, but Jacob doesn't cut people much slack. No defense attorney has dared try to make him look foolish on the stand since the first year; they've learned that they'll come off second in any battle of wits. I don't recall Blair ever using his intelligence as an offensive weapon; defensive yes, never offensive. Jacob does it all the time, and it is quite unnerving. Suspects find it even more so. 

Jacob doesn't look intimidating. He's short, and not heavily muscled. He looks almost fragile--although anyone who has tangled with him knows that he's anything but; at the Academy some more-muscles-than-brains got rough with him in a self-defense class and Sandburg dislocated his shoulder. Generally he's very soft-spoken and polite, even with the roughest characters. This screams _pushover_--but when they push, he pushes back. I remember Henry Lomax, a big, hairy, tattooed biker; Sandburg never laid a hand on him, but Lomax was in tears, confessing to crimes we had never known about. I was in the observation room and I still am not sure how he did it.

Jacob's a remarkable person; but I miss Blair.

* * *

Blair was back today. I don't know what brought him back. The two graduations, the museums and historical sites in D.C.--those I thought _would_ bring him back, but they didn't, except a few glimmerings. 

It was after the Florida State School of Criminal Justice graduation. I had just come down from the stage, sweating in my robe and hood, clutching my diploma, when something came flying at me. I was nearly knocked flat by a curly-headed bundle of energy that slammed into me and wrapped itself around me.

"Jimjimjimjimjimjim.youdidityoudidityoudidityoudidit. . .congratulations, you worked so hardIknewyoucoulddoitandnowyoucanthinkaboutadoctorateand. . ."

"Breathe, Chief, breathe."

"Jim, I'm so proud of you. Come, come, come. . ."

He led me off to one side. Someone brought his Union Institute regalia..

"I thought you'd sent this home, Chief?"

"No, I sent it to Gary, here; we were at Rainier together, and he was one of the few people there who stood by me when. . . Well, I knew he taught at FSU, so I sent my regalia here and Gary's going to take our picture together all in our robes and. . ."

"Watch the birdie!" said Gary.

The next day, Blair was gone. Jacob was back.

I like Jacob. Jacob is a nice guy. Jacob is a good cop, and an excellent partner.

But I miss Blair even more now.

* * *

Well, we're back in Cascade. We took the train on from Florida, laid over in New Orleans--saw the French Quarter, rode the streetcar (Desire and Cemeteries, not to mention Elesian Fields are served by bus now, but the names are there still.) Then on through Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and then up the California Coast.

We broke our journey in San Francisco and saw Carolyn. She's head of her department now, and she's remarried. Her new husband seems a nice man. Not a cop. He works for Bank of America; he tried to explain his job, but I couldn't quite follow it. Something to do with computers.

The train trip ended in Seattle; we could have waited overnight and taken the train into Cascade, but we had decided against it. Simon came and picked us up and delivered us to the Loft. When we got in we found the gang from Major Crimes had staged us a 'Welcome Home' party. Two department-store dummies were dressed in our academic robes, each one holding a framed diploma. There was a roaring fire against the usual damp chill of Washington State. The food almost made me zone on the smell alone. Drink flowed like water. 

I almost forgot how much I miss Blair.

* * *

The last of the guests have staggered their tipsy ways down to the waiting taxis. Rafe and Brown stayed a little longer to clean up--they did _almost_ as good a job as I would have, I'll give them credit. Rafe's pretty handy in the kitchen; I didn't know that Armani _made_ aprons.

Rafe and Brown are gone too; we've stumbled to our beds. Most of the unpacking can wait until morning.

I hear his breathing. He's asleep. A doctor at last. The ride on the Sandburg Express has been a wild one. We'll climb aboard again, and it'll be another wild one to the end of the line.

When the knees and hips and shoulders get too worn to chase suspects down the streets of Cascade, when paper-shuffling as administrative officers gets too dull, I can see us at the Academy, or Cascade Junior College, or Washington State/Cascade teaching the next generation of Cascade's Finest. Neither of us have children that we know of, and that will be the next best thing, a legacy.

David and Jonathan; Damon and Pythias; Jim and Jacob. 

Friends and partners, Sentinel and Guide, the Watchman and the Shaman.

But I miss Blair.

   [1]: mailto:web2575@charweb.org
   [2]: http://www.tui.edu/
   [3]: http://www.criminology.fsu.edu/
   [4]: http://www.csu.edu.au/
   [5]: http://www.unisa.ac.za/
   [6]: http://www.canemasters.com/



End file.
